


There's A Man In My Basement

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Animal Death, Basement, Body Horror, Death, Demons?, Gen, Halloween, Horror, Psychological Horror, Tension, Unreliable Narrator, horror story, scared, scary story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 17:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16350923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: I pretend not to hear him. It.I pretend that my room doesn't smell like mildew and rotting flesh.I pretend that I don't know that one day, when he's hungry enough, he'll make it out of the basement.[[A spooky, short horror story]]





	1. Chapter 1

It first appeared at a funeral when I was six.

I remember its grotesque, wrinkled face that housed empty eyes. It stared at me the entire time.

Its mouth was a gaping hole, slick with crimson liquid, but somehow, I knew it wasn't blood.

I knew because It wasn't human. I knew because It hadn't eaten in years. I knew because It told me.

I remember crying as It lumbered close to me. A tall, withery form, hobbling as if one leg was too short, and the other too long. It had started the whispering then.

Empty, haunting words in a language I couldn't understand. (I still can't understand.)

I was bawling by then. My parents bared me no mind, thinking I was depressed about my grandfather's corpse being lowered into the ground. Truthfully, I had forgotten all about that, because by then, It was right next to me.

It bent down to me, vertebrae cracking with effort. Its mouth spit the bubbly, red liquid onto my cheek, somehow going completely unnoticed by all the attendees of the funeral. A thin, gnarled hand reached out and cupped my other cheek. I remember the palm feeling like dry ice. So cold, it burned. It lowered Its orifice to my ear, and spoke in clear, concise English.

_**"Feed me."** _


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: dog death

As I lie in bed, I hear Its breathing. It's harsh and laboured, but I know that it's for show. He doesn't need oxygen.

It whispers to me, because It knows my bedroom is right over the basement, and a vent in the corner leads straight down to it. Mostly, He rambles in the strange language of his. But sometimes, just when Its wheezing breath becomes white noise to my exhaustion plagued ears, It asks for food. On those nights, I can feel an ever creeping hopelessness, because I know if He gets hungry enough, He'll crawl out of the basement. And I know the flimsy little lock on my door won't stand a chance against It.

On those nights, I give in, and feed it. Usually little rodents and things from outside, except for the nights I Panic.

I Panic because I can hear Its footsteps on the basement stairs. I Panic because It hadn't told me It was hungry, and was coming for me.

The first time I Panicked, I gave it Samus.

My dog.

Samus was a little Jack Russell terrier. It had been so easy to scoop the little animal up, slam open the door, throw its tiny, yelping form into the darkness, and flee back to my room.

That night I heard It crunch into Samus. Wet, squelching sounds traveled up from the vent, and I could imagine the dog's blood spattering the walls. I remember vomiting and my parents calling me in from school, saying that I merely  caught the flu.

I had tried telling them about Samus, about how It ate him.

My parents had looked confused. "Who's Samus, sweetheart?"

"Our dog!" I had pleaded.

My parents had looked at me like I was crazy. But I'm not. I'm not crazy.

And as I lie in bed, I still hear Samus whimpering.


End file.
